


goretober 2018

by rinshankouhai



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2019-07-24 00:05:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16169525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinshankouhai/pseuds/rinshankouhai
Summary: drug-addled stream of consciousness short stories for DrawKill's goretober list





	1. PINS AND NEEDLES

It's delicate stitchwork, working with skin. The needle has to puncture all the way through, and it's so soft, more than you'd expect. To pull these bits of human canvas together into a cohesive whole is a work of art as dark as it is elegant. And what do you fill it with? Emeralds, rubies, things of value; dump them all inside and sew the skin together. Then see how the eyes begin to sparkle, watch how the teeth become long and sharp. Make sure you've prepared the circle well beforehand, and wear proper amulets of protection. As the gems push out of the skin to form the twisted spikes of the beast, it will become hungry. It is advised to carry out the summoning near a population center, such as a school or hospital. It's hard not to want to watch as it picks up a child and jams them into its jagged stomach. Misshapen spikes of gemstone puncture through the child's body as the beast contracts, an awful discordant grinding interlaced with the dying scream. The beast absorbs the soul as nutrient and the rest of the gory mass is ejected onto the nearest surface. The skin is now torn to pieces and must be sewn back together to create another beast.


	2. SENSORY LOSS

You're so beautiful, I couldn't help myself.

Eyes are so delicate, you know. What if something had happened to your pretty eyes? One false move and they're gouged beyond recognition. I couldn't bear to see those eyes lose their innocence; that's why I took them first.

Your voice is so soft, so sweet and divine. I couldn't bear to hear you in pain, calling for your loved ones, screaming all those sorrowful things. So I took your tongue. That sugar-sweet voice is safe inside my head now, pure and untainted.

Of course you squirmed, and who wouldn't squirm? I had to keep you still so you wouldn't get hurt, but I would never be so cruel as to leave nasty red rope-marks on the one I love. So it was off with your arms, each touch of the knife blooming a new bright-red rose before my eyes. Soft pink tendons, blood vessels and skin, even the taste was pastry-sweet. The little 'crack' when bonesaw separated arm from shoulder was to die for. I wish you'd been awake for it, but then maybe it's better if you weren't. It took a long time to remove all that excess weight. Now we can hold hands no matter where I am!

The last thing you heard would be my little "I love you."

All the little treasures are stowed away now, and you've been rescued from whatever horrid monster could do such a thing. Eyes and ears and arms and legs and tongue, all selfishly stolen away by an unknown villain. But at least you lived, thank God you lived! All safe now, wrapped up in linen as you lay on the hospital bed in your dark and quiet world. Only the pleasant scent of roses and the tender touches on your face to tell you when it's time to eat. A shame you can't see the card on your bedside table, wishing you to 'Get well soon!'

Don't worry. I'll watch over you. Just knowing you're there puts a spring in my step, and I can't help but smile every time the doors open and your parents say:

"Hello, doctor!"


	3. CRAWLING FROM WITHIN

It started from just a cut on her leg while she was hiking. Before she could bandage it, a fat dark shape pushed its way into her wound and disappeared. A leech. She could feel it force its way up her leg, squeezing and slithering through her veins. But she was quiet and shy, and didn't want to ruin the hike by making people worry. So she didn't say anything.

The leech crawled and pushed up her leg and around her body. Sometimes she could see her skin bulge as it moved. Sometimes she couldn't feel her arm or leg. She didn't want to worry anyone, so even after the wound closed, she didn't say anything.

Then she realized there were two leeches crawling around. Then three, then four-- soon her whole body was writhing and squirming with leeches and it was very painful. She realized that her stomach felt full, and then slowly began to bulge. She covered the writhing surface of her stomach and skin beneath heavy clothes. It was almost Christmas, and she did not want to ruin Christmas.

Sometimes they would crawl thickly up the inside of her throat and she would cough them out, black wet and writhing into the sink. She felt lightheaded now; it was getting hard to hide the nauseous pain. Just one more day of work, then she'd say something. It was while talking to her boss that the first leech erupted from her mouth on its own. Then came the thick, awful gagging feeling as she vomited a writhing mess onto the desk. It was painful everywhere. They were desperate to escape her blood-thin body, ripping out through skin and pouring from every orifice, all spawning at once.

As they began to burst from her eyes, all she could say was "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."


	4. FLESH AND THE MACHINE

Seven screens, two left, two right, one straight ahead

head height

every one something different But

always different means basically the same, in a way.

Watching every day on the metal throne, no interface needed;

thoughts are enough to affect the pictures

so she doesn't move

not that she could if she wanted to, hands shackled, bare legs cold

She would care if it weren't for the syringes

plunging liquid dreams into her veins that burn, a dozen red pockmarks on her neck, more on her arms,

an eternal IV

both chemical and visual

every day the same.

Drugs can make you content with boredom.

Drugs can make you content with nothing.

The machine serves one purpose: to sustain her

she serves none.

On one of the monitors, a text editor is open, streaming lowercase words, line after line from her head:

hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow. hollow.


	5. PRESCRIPTION DREAMS

It's a wide beach, with blue sand and pink water. Her toes squish into the soft fine sand and the lightly fizzing waves give a refreshing fruity scent. Bossa nova trickles like honey out of a radio on a soft rainbow-striped towel nearby.

_A harsh light is shining down on her, the table is cold, a tall labcoat silhouette with soft long hair and glasses slips something into her mouth. The dream fizzes like disturbed soda and washes back to the forefront with the waves._

The towel is unearthly soft. Laying face down on it it's easy to just want to drift away with the gentle breeze. The fabric is soft and warm against her cheek and her breath is soft.

_Light glints off a knife and a dull pain blossoms. Her stomach is sliced open from top to bottom in one clean motion, blood already bubbling up out of the thin wound. But she can't move, and it feels so distant._

There's a pale blue cat on the beach and when it trots over through the sand to rub against her side it's even softer than the towel. Flowers are blooming from her stomach now and they twitch in the air.

_The labcoat figure breathes heavily and their gloved fingers caress bare bloody fat and exposed muscle. They're wearing sterile gloves yet now they're bringing their hand up to lick the red splatter from it. Then they grasp her intestines and her vision goes soft white._

It's bright and warm on the beach. _Another something slips into her mouth and dissolves._ She's digging into a fresh watermelon now and it's dripping all down the front of her through the flowers and the leaves on her stomach. _Giggling unsteadily and pulling the intestine out, rubbing it against their face._ There's some sparkling orange juice there too. It's a nice compliment. _Gloved fingers grasp her still-beating heart as it strains and pounds against the ribs._ Hot, slow tears are slowly coursing down her cheeks. _Her body is going cold._ She's smiling.

Everything is okay.


	6. OTHERWORLDLY MEAL

Low creaking and the rattling of chains echo through the cavernous space. It feels like nothing lives here yet there's subtle noise and movement all around. In the center of the chamber is one enormous table, carved from stalactite-hung cave-rock. At that table sit two colossal figures possessed of an unearthly beauty and primal terror.

One of them lifts a hand. The table is heavy-laden with a banquet of sickening multicolor. The hand reaches out ponderously to grasp a goblet, the size of a hot-tub, filled with piles of quietly bubbling viscera gleaming red in the strange sourceless light.

"Did you watch the Bachelorette last night?" The voice is slow and groaning, like if an old dead tree decided to speak. Mangled human organs flow thickly from the goblet past dripping fangs and into the cold throat of the thing, meat slapping against meat.

"You know I don't watch that shit," snaps the other diner. When she speaks black smoke rises from her mouth. She surveys the spread with the gaping black holes that are her eyes. With one hand, skin smooth as eggshell, she grasps an enormous fork and lifts it over her plate.

Moaning and crying emanate from the enormous plate. Naked human figures writhe, helpless and broken. One of them a girl about twenty with braided black hair watches as the fork comes close, tines sharpened to a trident point. Her limbs are broken, and she's stuck among the great wriggling bloody intestinal noodles. The plate erupts into screaming all around her and she screams hoarsely as the fork punctures through her stomach, tearing fat and gristle as she vomits bloody empty bile onto herself, eyes staring intensely at nothing. The fork stabs four at once and lifts them up to the smoky mouth where they slowly dissolve and fall apart.

"I was watching Always Sunny."


	7. DEATH LIKE CRIMSON

Violet,

I hope this gift has reached you safely. I will not be able to visit in person until late April, though I will naturally be mailing along a Christmas gift as well. Give my regards to Antoine, along with my thanks for the new colander.  
With this letter should be enclosed a smallish packet; treat it with care, it was difficult to come by. The packet should contain twenty-four seeds. As I recall, you have an empty plot in your garden. Use their planting as a hobby; I would not trust a servants' clumsy hands with this delicate beauty.  
The season does not matter. Sprinkle the ground with a little ash from burnt noose-rope and water as usual. Leaving the watering can in direct moonlight may help it along a little.  
The roses will grow quickly, but without flowers, only a thick bramble of large thorns. It will not seek the blood of our kind but it is best to wear gloves anyhow. Again do not let the servants tend to it. It will thrive on its own.  
When the bushes are at their thickest is when it begins. Select a suitable captive with a fine terroir. I prefer women for this because of their smooth and supple skin but it is up to you. Strip the captive down and drop them into the center of the bushes.  
It's a wonderful sight. Sit awhile and watch; I often enjoy tea and light reading while the process unfolds. See how the vines curl and tighten and the captive is quickly rendered immobile; how the thorns pierce skin and slowly drag great lacerations across it, blooming crimson on their pale skin and filling the air with heavy copper scent. The screaming is divine. Sometimes the vine will push through and grow out through an eyesocket; a good sign. Do not worry about cleaning. The captor will soon be reduced to a red mush and drunk until there is no evidence left.  
A week or so later, a single rose blooms. Slowly, thickly it seeps with the blood of the sacrificed. Put it to your lips; savor the damp crimson warmth weeping from every part of the flower. It will do this indefinitely.  
I am eager to see how many different flowers you can grow by my arrival.

With love,  
Esmerelda


	8. THE INFECTION

How long has it been?

It's impossible to tell, the passage of time has become entirely blurred-- to the point where it's hard to remember a normal life.

You slowly stumble forward. You're so hungry. All of your joints and muscles ache from ceaseless wandering and the smell is putrid. You were shot a while ago, and it hurts. Thick old blood oozes down your chest, a dozen old cuts and punctures riddle your skin weeping pus into your ruined clothes.

You're so hungry.

A low groan escapes your lips. Your stomach is on fire-- you're so hungry. Even when your gut sits heavy with flesh you're hungry. It never stops. Everything hurts so much. You're so hungry.

The scent of fresh blood is on the air. The crowd around you slowly begins to move, and you find yourself moving with it. You groan again in starving agony, drool escapes your open lips. Not again... It's so horrible, but you're so hungry... Last time was a child, and you couldn't even cry.

You hear shouting. Then you hear a gunshot ring out.

Oh no.

"Aim for the head! We can't let them get in!"

Please, no...

The front of the crowd starts dropping one by one as brains are reduced to buckshot slurry. But you can't stop moving. You're so hungry. You stumble forward over a fallen body.

"They're not human anymore-- they're just empty husks! Don't hesitate!"

You're still in here... Everyone is still in here... There's got to be a cure, please... You try desperately to make your stiff mouth move but all you can manage is another sickly groan and a shotgun is leveled at your head--

Your brother is holding it. His hands are shaking. He's crying.

"FIRE!"


	9. SUFFOCATION NO BREATHING

Drifting through space, there's a voice in my ear:

"--nda! Are you okay? Answer me--"

I'm not okay. I'm dying. The station is drifing slowly out of view. The line's totally severed.

Ahh, that's not good...

There's a puncture in my suit, too. Little globules of blood are streaming out of it, and they look weirdly pretty in the Earthshine. It doesn't really hurt...

I should be more afraid than I am. But I can only see it as a distant set of information, like a hypothetical problem. I start running through what'll happen to me in my head.

When exposed to the vacuum, I should exhale, or my lungs will decompress and burst. That'll buy me about fifteen seconds of consciousness, I think.

I can already feel the exposed skin swelling as the water in my body expands. Well, it's not like I'll explode. Haha.

"--ease... Please... Say something... Come back to me..."

Man, this sucks. I'm slowly tumbling over, doing a sluggish backflip. I feel sick, and then I feel thick globs of vomit and blood spew hotly out of my mouth and into the helmet.

I should be really cold, but of course there's nothing in space to conduct that chill. Well, I am still pretty cold. Maybe because of all the blood loss. And the fact that the blood is both freezing and boiling across the wound in what I assume is a weird crimson froth.

Oh, right. The liquid on my tongue will start to boil, too. At least my eyes won't pop out of my head or anything. That would be gross.

"...nda... Mir... ... Please... ... ... no..."

No good. I don't have much longer. I'm passing out. Got to say something--

"Sorry."

That single word is swallowed silently by the vacuum,

and then so am I.


	10. SELF INFLICTION

Five men-- but they were our boys-- went up the mountain in their car that night.

They were all a little slow, but they were sweet boys. Jeff was the only one who ever drove. They should have come straight back home, they all stayed mostly at home-- but they were excited about the basketball game. Their favorite team won, and they stopped at Behr's market, oh, bless em, for one Hostess cherry pie, one Langendorf lemon pie, one Snickers bar, one Marathon bar, two Pepsis and a quart and a half of milk.

I just wish I knew what happened.

We found their car way up on that ridge, way up the mountain in the snow, miles from anything. Car was fine, almost too fine for an old piece of shit on a rough road like that. No keys but the cops got it working just fine. Maps and everything. Wasn't too bad stuck in the snow. But no boys.

Not til the spring thaw.

They found Jeff first. Well, they found his general vicinity. Nothing left but scattered chewed-on bones. Bobby must have been with him cuz he was washed down the river nearby, all bloated, frozen, half-ate.

Little further out John's dad found his spine, then his skull. Dentals matched. 

They never did find Greg.

Oh, but they found Tim.

In that shack all by himself. He'd been alive there for a while. Plenty of matches and fuel, plenty of rations, gas heating even. He never used any of it. Never set no fire, never ate no food. Beard was all grown out and he'd lost a lot of weight.

He starved to death like that. Half frozen for no good reason. All wrapped up in sheets like a mummy.

What was going through his head?

What happened to him? What had he seen? Why didn't he eat?

And why did he look so scared?


	11. SMELLS LIKE ROTTING

Sitting in the room in the dark illuminated only by the light of the monitor, it feels safe, it's familiar, it's a place that no one can intrude on-- a safe place. 

Eat, sleep, Twitter, Youtube, sleep, Twitter, Reddit, Twitter, Final Fantasy. Sleep, Twitter, eat, Twitter, Final Fantasy, Reddit, Youtube, Twitter, Wikipedia, sleep, Twitter, sleep. Eat, masturbate, sleep, Pixiv, masturbate, Twitter, eat. Depression, Twitter, Depression, Depression, Depression, sleep, Depression. Final Fantasy.

It feels safe. It feels comfortable. It's a quiet routine. Huddled up for warmth, illuminated only by the light of the monitor. Pull the blinds shut, plug the ears with music, everything's okay. It's safe. 

Day after day after day after day after day...

Heavy, hard to move, when was last sleep? Scrolling one-handed past a stream of smiling faces. Hard to move, hard to think. Hard to remember what outside was like.

Pixiv, Youtube, heavy, Pixiv, Reddit, slow, Reddit, tired. Pixiv mind is Reddit funny Twitter Youtube fading out.

It's just so scary outside.

BANG BANG BANG!

"-----! I'm coming in!"

The door bursts open. Bright. So bright it hurts. Huddled in the safe warm blanket.

Please, no. No yelling. Just want to feel safe.

"Oh my god... What..."

I'm in my safe place, leave me alone.

The blanket's ripped away and the long detached arm falls to the floor. The rotting flesh is maggot-ridden, long knotted hair hanging down. One eye had fallen out, and the other swivelled up toward disgusted faces with one hand still on the keyboard typing this.


End file.
